There is something to be said about my reluctance to speak, but the words are not yours to utter. Voices lie dormant but not silent in the caverns which I'll call my soul. Speaking a vicious language of fire and brimstone they speak of things I fear will come to pass. What are these things? Simply put, they are lies. What are lies? Lies are words draped in evasive speeches contrived and refined in pools of blood and laughter. I've slaughtered entire races with my many nouns(lies!),verbs(lies!),and adjetives(lies!)... words which create sentences which form my common tounge. But I find my victims are found among the living as my back breaks from the weight of my own tombstone which I am forced to carry. These lies have built a wall around me which has kept me prisoner in my own soul, a soul which speaks no language.
